The Sound a Bomb Makes
by E4flying
Summary: It started as a routine case, but that changes when the world explodes around Neal. This could take place during any season (except season 1) and has no particular spoilers. Contains a small portion of Neal whump.
1. Chapter 1

_White Collar doesn't belong to me, but that can't stop me from wishing it did._

* * *

Peter couldn't get the sounds out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. He kept hearing his voice over and over again, screaming out, screaming for him, but he's just as unable to help as he was when the world split and what was left of the building roared upwards in a fireball towards the sky.

His knee was bouncing, constantly bouncing and his heel kept hitting the floor and Peter didn't know how to make it stop, how to make any of it stop. Because the light was still there when he closed his eyes, the outline of the flames decorated the back of his eyelids and painted a picture he didn't want to see any more.

Peter was frozen; not his wife's head on his shoulder or his team's wide eyes staring at him with shock and concern or his bouncing knee could get him to move, to get his mind off the track it has been hurling down for the past couple hours. That was ironic, because though his mind was frozen, his body was still warm from the blast of fire that tingled his nerves from his fingers to his toes like he was a marshmallow thrust in a campfire on a warm summer's night.

While his mind was stuck and couldn't move, his eyes darted to the door every time he heard it swing open, and he waited with baited breath for the doctor to come back, to lower his mask and call out the name he so desperately wanted to hear for so long.

He needed to know that Neal Caffrey was ok.


	2. Chapter 2

FIVE HOURS EARLIER

Neal, for once, was quiet in the van, hand holding one end of the headphones to his ear as he sat next to Jones. They listened quietly to Peter's voice as he told their mark, a weapons smuggler, that he was very satisfied with the price. The man asked to see the money, and they heard a click as Diana opened a briefcase. Peter asked to see the weapons, and the man called for his wife to bring them out.

"Excellent," Peter said. "This will make me a very happy man."

"That's the signal," Jones said inside the van. He and Neal jumped up and exited the van, headed towards the warehouse where Peter and Diana were with the smuggler. Jones motioned for Neal to stay behind him, and he walked towards the warehouse with his gun raised, while five FBI agents trailed slightly behind. They burst the door open and within a second had the smuggler and his wife surrounded.

"FBI! Drop your weapons!"

The agents secured the smugglers, and Neal sauntered forward to join Peter and Diana.

"Another win for the good guys," he said with a smile.

"It was well done," Peter agreed.

Jones walked over and said to Peter, "There's a hallways off the closet where they were keeping the guns. I sent an agent down there to see if there are any weapons they were hiding separately."

"Good," Peter said, and started to continue before a voice yelling interrupted him.

"Agent Burke! There's a problem!"

The team walked over to investigate, and found the agent leaning over a large device, with a timer on it. It read 7:20 and as they watched, its red numbers counted down.

Peter was the first one to react. "Evacuate the building! Everyone out!"

The agents streamed outside into the sunlight of the day, and Peter stormed over to where the smugglers were about to be driven off to the FBI headquarters. He stopped the car before it started, and yanked the smuggler out of the vehicle. He reached a hand into the smuggler's pocket, and pulled out a small detonator.

"What did you do?" Peter asked, furious.

"I set up a contingency plan, agent," the smuggler said, a smirk curling his lips upwards.

"Two minutes!" someone called out from behind Peter, and Jones and Diana were pushing everyone back to what they deemed to be a safe distance away from the warehouse.

But Neal stood next to Peter, and Peter was shoving the smuggler back into the car.

"What's going on?" Neal heard the smuggler's wife ask.

"I set up a bomb, in case of emergencies," the smuggler responded. "It's just a shame the FBI found it before it could go off."

"A bomb!" the wife cried, loud enough to hear from outside the car. "But she's in there!"

"You brought our daughter to a weapons deal?" the smuggler roared.

"I didn't want to leave her alone, I thought she would be safer in the basement here, then alone in the house."

Neal felt blood thumping in his ears. He knew Peter was too far away, the bomb was too close to going off, there was no time, there was no time.

He sprinted off towards the warehouse before he could think twice.


	3. Chapter 3

FIVE HOURS LATER (AT THE HOSPITAL)

Finally, _finally_, the doctor made an appearance. The words "Family of Neal Caffrey?" left his lips, and Peter jumped up, almost laughing that he was so ready to be called a relative of the ex-con man. Elizabeth was by his side and Jones and Diana stood, hovering farther back, as the doctor made his way over to them.

"Mr. Caffrey was very lucky," he said. "The burns on his body are concentrated on his arms and left side of his body; it seems like he shielded himself with his arms to avoid any burns to his face. We needed a few skin grafts over the worst of it, but he will be fine with time. He also dislocated his arm when he fell on it, after the blast. We've put it back in place and immobilized it for now, but that won't be a long term problem. Like I said, for the situation you described, Mr. Caffrey was very, very lucky. He should make a full recovery. For now, we'll wait—it'll be an hour or so until he wakes from the anesthesia, and then you can see him."

Peter body fell like a puppet released from its strings, landing hard in the chair and releasing a puff of air in relief.

He was ok. _Neal was ok._


	4. Chapter 4

FIVE HOURS EARLIER (AT THE WAREHOUSE)

Neal moved without thinking, without needing to think. His brain, wired for the heat of the con, worked automatically to find the best place to keep stairs to a basement, like all those years ago it had worked to find the best exit. He saw it, a small trap door that was slightly open, and in a second he was there, pulling it open and climbing down.

Inside there was just a small light to illuminate the area, but Neal could see clearly the small girl in a baby blue shirt stacking bricks to make a castle.

He yelled, telling her to get out, but the words hardly registered in his brain. There was a clock inside, counting down seconds he had. And there weren't that many left.

He motioned for the girl to climb the stairs first, and when she reached the top he yelled "Run!" and she was off, sprinting towards safety with the speed only a truly terrified 6 year old could possess.

And then he was climbing the stairs, and he saw her pass the doors of the warehouse, but he was still so far away. The timer in his head was less than ten seconds, and then it was nine, and he's running faster than was ever meant for such a nice suit and he's nearing the doors and there's only two second left and then one and he knew what was going to happen. He threw his arms up to shield his face and he shut his eyes tightly and he felt his body thrown up in the air and slammed down on the pavement and then there was nothing.

* * *

Peter had slammed the car doors on the quarreling couple, and made sure they stayed low and would be protected from the blast. Then he joined his team in taking cover behind the van, crouching low with their eyes squeezed shut and their hands over their ears.

But Peter's eyes were drawn open at the last second, call it fate or coincidence, and he saw a young girl running away from the warehouse, a look of pure terror on her face. And behind her he saw a man sprinting, just clearing the warehouse doors, wearing a nice shoes not meant to run in. Peter knew what was happening a split second before it did; but then the world exploded and he had no choice but squeeze his eyes shut and cover his ears and wait for the heat wave to die down so he could see. Although he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Diana was the first one of the agents still behind the van to realize Peter was gone. She stood up and searched for him, and found him quickly leaning over a little girl who lay still on the pavement. When Diana's ears cleared she heard crying, and she gave a small sigh knowing the child was ok. But as she approached her boss she knew something was seriously wrong, even if it wasn't the little girl. "I got her," she said, and Peter ran off.

He sprinted full speed, but stopped suddenly when he reached Neal's body. He was lying prone on the ground, and burns covered his arms and singed his clothes. He was not moving, but that's not what scared Peter the most. No, Peter saw the lines of blood trailing from his ears and leaking down his neck, staining the pristine white skin. And there was a small trickle emerging from under his right eye, as well.

In a second Peter snapped out of it, sprang into action. He got on the ground, pulled his jacket off and used it to cradle Neal, to keep him comfortable. He was careful with his head as he pulled Neal towards his own body. The movement was still jarring though, and Neal's eyes eased open and spotted Peter. He relaxed in Peter's arms mouthing, "Peter."

His eyes drooped closed again, but before they shut all the way, he said it again, like a mantra that would save him: "Peter." Peter was happy to hear it a little stronger, but Neal's eyes shot open and he said it again, this time louder. "Peter." But this seemed to frustrate and anger him, and he started positively yelling. "Peter! Peter!"

Peter's face went white and he squeezed Neal's arm tightly, trying to get him to respond. "Hey, Neal, buddy I'm right here. Neal relax, you're ok, I'm right here with you."

But this seemed to drive Neal over the cliff.

"Peter!" He kept yelling, and there's such a deep fear rooted in Neal's voice that it broke Peter, somewhere deep inside of him. He could only imagine Neal was so hot, burning from the flames that just licked as his body, and he tried to get Neal's jacket off but with no avail.

"Peter! Help, Peter, Peter help me!" He was squirming and screaming and lashing out and Peter kept talking to him, trying to calm him down, but nothing was working, nothing was working.

It only took another few seconds for Neal to yell himself hoarse, and lose his battle with consciousness. He fell, dead weight, against Peter, who sat and watched over him until the ambulance arrived.


	5. Chapter 5

SIX HOURS LATER (AT THE HOSPITAL)

They filed in one by one, as if by a funeral progression, but the light in their eyes was hungry and bright, feasting on Neal's peaceful face, his eyes closed. The machines beeping next to him were the only evidence that he wasn't just asleep. That and the arm that hung in a sling, swaddled in bandages and resting above the covers.

Peter took a seat beside Neal, and Elizabeth moved to the opposite side of the bed. Jones and Diana had left after they heard the good news.

"Hey buddy," Peter said, quietly. Elizabeth laid her hand down on top of Neal's, and the two sat there for some time, watching him silently. Finally Elizabeth moved around to kiss her husband, telling him she was going to make a phone call. He nodded and she left the room.

He wasn't sure what made him start talking, but once he did he couldn't stop. "Neal," Peter began. "I can't tell you how much you scared me today. I'm sorry to say, I didn't notice you missing until the very last second. But when I saw the girl running out of the building, I knew what had happened. Neal, you are one of the most caring people I've ever met. You risked your life to go save that girl, you should have died. But I am so, so thankful, and if you could hear me right now I'm sure I wouldn't admit this, but I am _so_ thankful you survived- I don't know what I'd be without you around."

Peter looked down at his still body, his chest rising and falling uniformly. He stood up to leave, and squeezed his arm gently.

Neal stirred, reacting to the touch.

"Neal?"

But his eyes weren't opening, and Peter thought he must have just moved in his sleep.

Peter had his back turned and was walking towards the door when he heard the low grown. He was back in a second.

"Neal, hey buddy, it's ok. You're in a hospital, you're ok." Peter patted Neal's head, the foreign gesture seeming right for the moment, and that illicited another movement. Soon his eyes fluttered, and Peter was looking into two crystal blue orbs.

"Neal."

Neal's eyes found Peter, and rested on him, as if memorizing his face.

"Peter." Neal's voice was ragged, but the word was audible. Peter smiled. "Peter." Neal repeated, this time a little louder.

"Yes, Neal, I'm right here."

"No—Peter!" Neal was getting agitated, and Peter was confused. He remembered the scene at the warehouse before Neal blacked out, and he started getting worried.

Neal was still repeating Peter's name, and he brought up his hand—the one not ensconced in the sling—and started itching at his ear. "Peter!" He said, and there was fear eminent in his voice.

Peter didn't know what else to do. With one hand he pushed the call button, and the other he grabbed Neal's hand away from his ear and tried to put it down on the covers. But Neal was resisting, fighting him, and tears were leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

Neal was close to screaming by the time a nurse ran in. She told Peter to steady Neal's hand, and she shot something into Neal's IV. Within seconds, he was unconscious again.


	6. Chapter 6

FIVE DAYS AFTER THE BLAST

Neal walked in the door, and spotted Mozzie sipping wine at his table. He turned to take his jacket off, easing it over his healing shoulder.

Mozzie took a sip before speaking, "First day back. How'd it go?"

"Fine," Neal answered, keeping his eyes on Mozzie even as he helped himself to a glass. "Diana confronted me, but I got her to keep quiet. Peter still has no idea. We just worked through a stack of old mortgage fraud today, no incidents."

"The Lady Suit," Mozzie said. "Interesting. Think she'll keep your secret?"

"It'll get out eventually, Moz," Neal said. "Frankly I'm astounded Peter hasn't figured it out yet."

"You never know, mon frére. If I didn't know right now, I couldn't tell."

"Thanks Moz," Neal said, a genuine, and rather sheepish smile appearing on his face.

Their conversation turned towards other, non-government themed dialogue, and they talked for a while, drinking the finest wine and laughing at old memories. Neal relaxed, the first time he had all day, and Mozzie saw this and felt proud of his friend.

Eventually, as the sun lowered in the New York City sky, Neal told Mozzie he wanted to do some painting, and Mozzie said good night and left him be.

Neal turned his attention to a fresh canvas, and took out his favorite set of paints. It was so much easier than it used to be to tune out everything around him, to let his eyes never leave the canvas and his attention never wander.

His first brush stroke reminded him of a Van Gogh he'd been eyeing to copy, for practice's sake of course, but his second led him away from there. His third and fourth distanced him until he was no longer sure where he was going, but he just followed his arm and allowed it to take him on a journey.

The journey lasted until the sun set and the city that never sleeps was only gently swaying in the background, and Neal put down his brushes and backed up.

In the painting, the buildings were clear, the Empire State and the Chrysler present, but the rest was mostly a blur. The left was a blaze of colors, from the warmest to the coldest and everything in between. It was chaos, and there was no organization there, but somehow it seemed like it was meant to be, like it fit. As his eyes travelled to the right the colors become muted, less bright. They started to fade until there was just a silver-gray color filling the space between the buildings. But the bland colors, while not making the statement that the other side was, brought out the skyline in a way that wasn't noticed until it was seen on its own.

Neal stared at it for a few minutes, torn with what he thought of it, until finally he left it to dry and went to bed. It was a warm night, and the glass doors to his patio stayed open. The noise filtered in to Neal's room, but he didn't hear it. He was fast asleep, snuggled against the covers as the painting watched over him.


	7. Chapter 7

FIVE DAYS EARLIER (AT THE HOSPITAL)

Peter left the hospital room late, when the sun had set and visiting hours were long past over. Neal slept most of the time, and when he woke he seemed disoriented and slightly panicky. But he never sustained consciousness for too long, and Peter left with Elizabeth only after promising the sleeping man he would be back in the morning.

Neal was left alone, until the early hours of the morning when a shadow slipped into his room. It sat in the chair that Peter had vacated earlier, and stared down at Neal.

Neal started stirring a half an hour after that. He groaned, his injured body making itself known.

Mozzie was standing by his side in a second. "Hey Neal."

Neal's eyes blinked open slowly, and locked on Mozzie's. "Moz?" he croaked.

"Yeah, it's me, Neal. I had to see you at some time. What happened?"

Neal frowned, and started scratching at his ear again. Mozzie grabbed his hand and lowered it. "What are you doing?"

"Mozzie?"

Mozzie realized something wasn't right. "Neal, can you hear me?"

Neal started to panic. "Mozzie? Mozzie help me, I don't know what's wrong with me."

Neal's heart rate monitor sped up, and Mozzie put a finger to his lips. He was not supposed to be in there, and he definitely didn't want any doctors to show up. Neal stayed quiet, but the look of panic was still in his eyes.

Mozzie rooted through the messenger bag he brought, until he found a pen and a piece of paper. He scribbled down a note and showed it to Neal. _Can you hear me?_

Neal shook his head furiously.

Mozzie added below it, _Can you hear anything?_ He showed it to Neal, and then crinkled it up right next to Neal's ear. Neal shook his head again, and his heart rate was still too high.

_Ok, relax. We can deal with this, but not if any doctors come in._

Neal looked at him questioningly, and Mozzie pointed at the monitors tracing the lines of Neal's heart beats. Neal nodded.

Mozzie pointed at his lips next.

"Read lips?" Neal guessed, his voice hoarse and low.

Mozzie nodded. "Can you?" he asked, annunciating slowly and carefully.

Neal's eyes screwed up in concentration, and then he nodded slowly. "A little. But I've never been as good as you."

Mozzie shrugged. "Always time to learn something new."

Neal nodded, and Mozzie smiled, knowing he understood.

"Mozzie?" Neal squeaked out, and his voice was trembling slightly. "What's going to happen to me?"

"If you want," Mozzie mouthed without any sounds coming out, "no one has to know."

Neal's eyes shut for a second, and he took a deep breath. Then he nodded. "Teach me."


	8. Chapter 8

SEVEN DAYS AFTER THE BLAST

Neal was sitting at his desk, working on a stack of paperwork diligently and quietly. Peter saw him from his office, and called out his name loudly.

Diana got up and walked by Neal's desk slowly, and tapped her fingers on the edge of it. He looked up from his paperwork and smiled at her, and she nodded her head just slightly in the direction of Peter's office. He got up, muttering "Thanks" as he passed her.

Neal entered Peter's office and took a seat across from Peter's desk. "Please tell me we have a new case," Neal begged. "I can't stare at paperwork any longer."

"Nope, no new cases right now," Peter said, and Neal's eyes subtly shifted to his lips as he spoke.

"Then… what?"

"Something's up with you," Peter stated. "I don't know what it is, but I'm going to find out."

"You do that," Neal said, keeping his expression even. "And when you find out, please let me know."

"Oh, come on, Neal. You can't think I haven't noticed."

Neal was practiced at controlling his emotions, but that didn't mean he wasn't squirming on the inside. He was acutely aware of the silence burrowing into his head, and he knew if Peter stood and turned around in frustration, as he often did, that Neal would be helpless. He pasted a large smile across his face. "Noticed what, exactly?"

"You've been fidgeting less, paying close attention in meetings, not flirting with the new probie who brought coffee… none of that is like you."

"Oh, so you want me to flirt with her?"

"No," Peter scowled.

"So…" Neal trailed off, waiting for Peter to speak.

"Just go back to your work. But I'm telling you, I'm going to figure it out."

"Whatever you say, Peter." Neal walked out of the office, and back to his desk.


	9. Chapter 9

FIVE DAYS AFTER THE BLAST

Neal would be lying if he said he was ready for his first day back to white collar. After all, he was _deaf_, and no one knew. And he wanted it to stay that way. He had been working with Mozzie, and spending a lot of time watching meaningless TV, and now he could read lips with fluency better than Mozzie himself. But that didn't mean he could follow a conversation if two people exchanged words back and forth faster than he could focus on their lips.

On top of that, Neal wasn't sure what the FBI would do if they found out he was deaf. Not Peter—he knew exactly what Peter would do. He would hover, and worry, and never let Neal undercover again. And Neal didn't want that. But he was more worried about the FBI. They surely wouldn't feel a deaf felon was worth keeping out of prison. And now more than ever, Neal had no desire to go back.

Neal saw the light above the door flick on, before Mozzie opened it and entered.

"Hey, Moz," he said, grabbing his tie.

"Did it work?" Mozzie asked.

"Yeah, brilliantly. Thanks." Neal knew Mozzie was referring to the light he installed above the door, that flashed upon contact when the door was completely closed. If anyone knocked, it would flash, but turn off as soon as the door opened.

"You ready for this?" Mozzie asked, looking significantly more worried than normal.

"I have to be," Neal said. "It's just another con." His phone vibrated and he pulled it from his pocket, looking at the message. "Peter's picking me up," he said.

"Well, good luck," Mozzie replied. "You'll do great."

Neal smiled, flipped his hat onto his head, and walked out the door.

* * *

His day was stressful, for sure, as his head was constantly moving to try to catch everyone's lips. They were all welcoming him back, which he appreciated, but he would have liked it if they didn't all do it at once.

Peter hadn't noticed at all, on the whole car ride there. Neal had breathed a huge sigh of relief as Peter walked up to his office while he took the shorter route to his desk.

In fact, the day went perfectly until about one in the afternoon. Everyone had gone out for lunch, but Neal had declined, naming missed paperwork as an excuse and holding up the lunch he had brought for himself. The office was almost empty—only Diana was still there, finishing up a report on a case he had missed. She was flipping through files as she munched on a bag of chips, when one caught her eye.

"Hey, Caffrey. Come take a look at this," she said, without looking up from the file. She received no answer, though, and tore her gaze from the picture of the forged painting. "Caffrey."

Still nothing—Neal was bent over his desk, a sandwich in one hand and a pen in the other. He was intently reading something, and didn't seem to being paying her any attention.

"Neal, this looks like a great forgery. Come take a look for me, will you?"

Now she was annoyed. She grabbed a pen and hurtled it across the office, yelling his name as it spun through the air. It hit him in the arm and he finally looked up, with an "Ow."

"Diana? Did you say something?" He asked, his picture-perfect innocent smile plastered on his face.

"Only about twenty times. What's wrong with you?"

"Sorry," he said, getting up and walking over to her desk. "I wasn't paying attention—still working on that paperwork."

Diana wasn't convinced- she'd always been innately suspicious by nature, and more so when it came to Caffrey, but this was more than just natural suspicion. There was something else going on.

"Take a look at this picture," she said, handing him the file.

"Wow," he breathed. He bent close over the picture, taking it in.

"It's a forgery, found in a museum shed," she said. "No one knows how it got there."

"This is exquisite," he said, looking up at her. "Where was it found?"

"Neal, I just told you." Diana's brow furrowed.

"Sorry," Neal muttered. "Wasn't paying—"

"Attention, yeah, sure."

Neal's eyes were fastened on her face, as if waiting for her to speak again. She was surprised he wasn't still studying the forged painting.

"Well, I should get back to work," she said.

He nodded and turned around, leaving the file on her desk. As his back was turned, she called out, "Neal."

He didn't turn around or react in any way.

Diana remembered the blast, and his reaction to Peter as he lay on the pavement after the warehouse had exploded. She remembered quite clearly the blood trailing down his face and neck. And she remembered how she couldn't hear great for a few hours even though she had been farther and had her hands firmly over her ears. "Damn it," she muttered.

Diana waited until Neal was seated again, munching on his sandwich and reading more reports. She got up and walked over to his desk, pulling her chair behind her. Neal only looked up when it was directly in front of his desk. She sat down, looking at his confused expression.

"Diana?"

Diana covered her mouth with her hand and said, "Neal, can you hear me?"

Neal closed his eyes for a second longer than it would take to blink. When he opened them, he had the conman response, and accompanying smile, ready. "Didn't your mother always tell you not to speak with anything in front of your mouth? It's rude, you know."

"Cut the crap, Caffrey!" Diana spat out. Then her expression softened. "Were you ever planning to tell us?"

Neal ignored the question. "How'd you figure it out?"

"I'm an FBI agent," Diana said. "You did well, that's for sure, but with the two of us alone in the room it didn't take that long."

Neal sighed. "I knew I couldn't hide it forever." His whole body seemed to slump, but his eyes remained firmly locked on her face. "I just needed to last until—"

"Until what?" Diana goaded.

"The doctors said the initial hearing loss came from swelling in my ears, and with time it would go away. Most of it has, but the hearing didn't come back. They ran some scans, told me there's still a chance. The swelling shifted the bones in my ears slightly, and in a week the swelling will be totally gone, and I'll go in for surgery. I was hoping I could hide it until then, I'm not cleared to go undercover yet anyway, and hopefully no one would ever know." He finished with a face slightly red, his eyes turned downwards.

Diana opened her mouth, but realized Neal was still looking down. She brought her hand forward, and titled Neal's chin upwards until his eyes met hers. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. And you should have told us. We want to help."

"I didn't want—"

"You shouldn't have to do this alone."

Neal nodded. They sat in silence for a second, Diana reflecting on how infinite and scary that silence must be for Neal. Finally he spoke. "Diana. I don't want Peter to know."

"But—"

"At least until after the surgery. Please, Diana, please don't tell anyone."

"I don't agree with this decision, Neal, but if this is what you want, I'll help you. But before you go into the surgery, Peter has to know. Before you get anesthetized, you have to tell him."

"Before I get what?" Neal asked, his brow furrowing.

"Before you get put to sleep."

"Anesthetized. Got it."

"You'll do it?" Diana asked.

"Yes. Thank you, Diana."

Diana glanced behind her at the small ding of the elevator, and quickly got up to go back to her desk before anyone came into the office. She saw Neal's eyes follow her movements at first with a touch of confusion, then understanding as the door next to him opened and Peter stepped inside.

"Hey, Peter," he called out.

Peter walked by, and called out, "Hi Neal."

Diana knew he couldn't hear Peter, but he smiled anyway.

* * *

_I know nothing about ears, or bombs, or a whole bunch of other stuff now that I really think about it. Anyway, all the medical stuff is made up. _


	10. Chapter 10

NINE DAYS AFTER THE BLAST

They were all in the conference room, Peter at the head and Jones and Diana sitting on opposite sides. Sitting next to Diana was Neal, his hand on the table and his form relaxed, leaning back in his chair. His eyes were on Peter's face.

"I think this is just a simple case of following the money. If we can trace it through the banks, it'll show us who's embezzling the money from the mortgages."

Diana shifted in her chair before speaking, brushing up against Neal's hand, and Neal turned his attention to her as she said, "Ten bucks it's the manager. I says he's having a midlife crisis, realizes his life isn't as fulfilling as it he wanted it to be, he takes some cash to make up for it."

"No, I'm going with the assistant," Neal said. "Hard hours, no girlfriend, he needs a pick me up and decides to skim from the money."

"You're on," Diana smirked.

"Ok, I think that's all for now," Peter said. Diana's eyes travelled to his face and Neal saw this, following her lead and looking at Peter. "Nothing else we can do until the warrant comes in. Let's call it an early night."

"Alright," Jones said happily. Peter walked out of the office but Jones hung back a second. "You want to get drinks? I know this great place that just opened up."

Diana turned to Neal. "Caffrey? Drinks tonight?"

"Nah, thanks, but I think I'll just head home. Mozzie has a… well, I think it's better if you don't know."

Diana smiled. "Thanks, Jones, but not tonight. Maybe next week?"

"Sure," he said, unfazed, and walked out.

"Thanks," Neal said to Diana as he got up. He walked towards the door. "Seriously. Thank you. I couldn't do this on my own."

He turned to walk out, but Diana tugged on the back of his jacket to get him to turn around. "When's the surgery?"

"Tomorrow," he said.

"Do you remember what we talked about?"

"Yeah." Neal replied, rather sullenly.

"Are you going to tell him now?"

"No, I don't want to be in the office. I'll go over to his house tonight."

Diana looked sufficiently pleased. "You're going to get it back, you know? The doctors will fix everything up, and I can go back to yelling at you from across the room."

Neal's only response was a non-enthusiastic, "I hope so." Then he left the room.


	11. Chapter 11

LATER THAT NIGHT

Neal stood outside of the Burke's house for more time than he cared to admit. He just couldn't bring himself to raise his hand and knock. But finally he did, feeling the slight vibrations in his hand even though he couldn't hear the sounds.

The door opened almost immediately, and Elizabeth stood in front of him. "Hi, Neal."

"Hey, Elizabeth." Neal injected some energy into his voice that he didn't feel, as he stepped inside the house. "Is Peter here?"

"Yeah, he's upstairs." She turned her head and called out, "Peter! Come down, Neal's here!"

Neal had been deaf for more than a week, but that was something he still wasn't used to. He could understand what people were saying, and read their tone from their facial expressions. But shouting was shouting, and it still unnerved him that he couldn't hear it, no matter how loud it was.

He kept his eyes on Elizabeth, as she was talking to him to fill the space, and he didn't notice Peter had come down until he was standing right next to Neal.

When Elizabeth stopped speaking, he turned to Peter. "Hey, Peter, I was wondering if I could talk to you about something."

"Yeah, sure, what's up?"

Neal glanced uncomfortably at Elizabeth. He knew she has a right to know—she sat with him for hours in the hospital before, worrying about him—but he thought he could only get it out if he were to just talking to Peter. "Can we talk outside?"

Peter saw his discomfort and nodded, giving Elizabeth a look of curiosity as he passed. The two men went out onto the small patio in the backyard and sat, facing each other.

"Peter," Neal started, but wasn't sure what to say next.

There was silence for a second, before Peter broke it. "Neal, if this is about the other day, what I said, well, I'm sorry. I've just trained myself to be suspicious of you all the time, and it's hard to turn off. I didn't mean to hurt you, or-"

"Peter, it's ok. It's not about the other day. Well, I guess it is, kind of…" he trailed off a bit, and took a deep breath. Then he decided the only thing he could do was dive right in. "Peter, I'm deaf."

The look of confusion on Peter's face was almost comical. "What?"

"The explosion from the warehouse. The bomb messed with my ears, and I haven't been able to hear anything since."

"But—we've been talking this whole time. You've been at work. How—?"

"I can read lips," Neal said. "Really well now. I got pretty good during my time of leave from the office. It's amazing how much you can motivate someone to learn if you take away their ability to hear." He ended with a rather forced chuckle.

"I'm so sorry I didn't know. I should have been there for you, helped you."

"No," Neal said, "I'm glad it was this way. I wasn't treated any differently because of it, which I'm glad about."

"I guess you really are the world's best conman. To be deaf for a week but have no one know…"

"Well, Mozzie helped me," Neal said, "and Diana found out. And as much as I hated it at first, now I'm glad she did. I wouldn't have gotten through work without her, and I also wouldn't be here."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't want you to know. Not before tomorrow. But Diana made me tell you."

"What's tomorrow?" Peter asked, ignoring the other part for a moment.

"In the hospital, after you left, I told the doctors about it and they took some scans. They found that my inner ears had swelled up because of the explosion. They thought when the swelling went down the hearing would come back, but that hasn't happened. They ran some more tests and found that the bones inside my ear are shifted slightly from the swelling—enough that no sounds around me are processing. They said as soon as the swelling is totally gone, they'll go in surgically and try to realign them. The surgery's tomorrow."

"Wow," Peter breathed, hardly any sound coming out of his mouth. But that didn't matter for Neal. "Wow, Neal…"

Neal hung his head. "I didn't want you to know. I wanted to go in tomorrow, get the surgery, and be fine. I didn't want you to have to know."

"Neal, you should have told me. I could have—"

"Could have done what, Peter? Nothing. There's nothing anyone could do." He couldn't hear his voice raising in volume, or the bitterness that rang through it, but he knew Peter could so he paused for a second to calm himself down. "I didn't want you to worry, to hover over me or treat me any differently."

"God, Neal, I hope there's not a next time, but if something like this ever happens again, tell me. There's no reason you should have to hide it, deal with it on your own."

"I wasn't on my own," Neal said. "Mozzie helped me, every step. Don't worry, Peter."

Peter reached out, placing his palm on top of Neal's hand. Neal looked down at it, and Peter waited for him to look back up before speaking. "I'll be there for you now. Whatever happens tomorrow, you won't be alone."

Neal's eyes looked a bit brighter in the lights of the dark city night. "Thank you, Peter."


	12. Chapter 12

10 DAYS AFTER THE BLAST

Peter sat in Neal's hospital room, staring at his inert form. It was almost exactly like a week and a half ago, but this time Mozzie sat across from him and Neal's ears were wrapped in a bandage that circled his head awkwardly.

There was silence for a while, except for the beeping of Neal's heart rate monitor. Finally Peter spoke.

"He's gonna be ok, right?"

Mozzie looked up sharply.

"I mean, I hope he gets his hearing back, I really, really do. But… in case he doesn't…"

"I should be asking you this, Suit," Mozzie said. "One of the things Neal was worried about was his release. Would the FBI still keep around a consultant if he's deaf? Because not being able to hear doesn't make prison much easier, especially for a known informant."

"What? No! No, of course Neal wouldn't go back to prison. God, Mozzie, he shouldn't have had to worry about that when he can't hear anything. You should have told me. Or gotten Neal to tell me, at least."

The silence returned, and this time it was a bit uncomfortable. It lasted for quite a few minutes before Peter broke it again. "Thank you, Mozzie," he muttered quietly. "You were a great friend to him, you helped him in ways I could never have done."

"Whatever happens when he wakes up," Mozzie said, "we'll figure it out. Neal will be fine, even if he can't hear."

Peter nodded, and again they waited, keeping time in the beeps of the heart rate monitor, just waiting for Neal to wake up.


	13. Chapter 13

1 MONTH AFTER THE BLAST

Peter and Neal walked through the barred door of the prison together, Peter a step behind Neal. The route was a familiar one for Peter, but Neal still marveled a little about being on the other side, shown to the visiting room instead of led there.

The smuggler was sitting at the table, his hands crossed in front of him with a glint of silver handcuffs showing underneath his orange jumpsuit.

Peter sat at the table, and Neal followed suit. The smuggler spoke first.

"You had no responsibility to my daughter," he started. "But you saved her anyway. I cannot thank you for that enough."

Neal's eyes studied the man's face as he talked. "I'm glad she's ok."

"I, um, I heard what happened to you because of it. I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean for anyone to get hurt, I'm so sorry about what happened to you."

Neal waved him off, but his eyes never left the man's face. "'Do not brood over your past mistakes and failures as this will only fill your mind with grief, regret and depression. Do not repeat them in the future.' Swami Sivananda."

The smuggler nodded hesitantly, though he still looked rather guilty. As he should, Peter thought. Peter's blood still boiled at the thought of what that man might've done to his own daughter, what he did do to Neal.

The visit didn't last much longer, and soon Neal and Peter were walking back out of the doors into the free world. Neal marveled at the wind in his hair, the smell of the city wafting towards him. Every time he stepped out of prison, he always found all his senses to be heightened, as if freedom was taking him in to welcoming arms. This time didn't fail to please; if anything, it felt even better.


	14. Chapter 14

10 DAYS AFTER THE BLAST (IN THE HOSPITAL)

Neal started stirring, and Mozzie and Peter jumped up from their respective seats and leaned over the bed. The heart rate monitor sped up a bit, and Neal moaned slightly. His eyes finally flickered open and he saw his two friends standing over him.

Neal's eyes were wide when he came to, alive with fear and uncertainty. No one wondered why.

Peter made sure Neal was looking at him before he spoke. "The doctors wrapped your ears, so you can't hear yet. Don't try to speak either- the bandage is looped around your chin."

Neal brought his hand up and fingered the bandage slightly, then nodded.

"I'll get the doctor," Peter said, and walked out of the room.

Mozzie laid his hand down on Neal's arm. "You're gonna be ok," he said.

Neal eyes closed for a second and he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The moment he'd been both dreading and anticipating for the last week was just around the corner.

The doctor walked into Neal's room, with Peter trailing just behind. He approached Neal, smiling slightly to put the nervous man at ease.

"I'm going to take the bandage off now. There's some scar tissue from the surgery, but if it worked you should be able to hear right away."

Neal nodded, and closed his eyes as the doctor started unwinding the bandage from around his head.

When all the bandages were gone and the gauze taken off of his ears, Neal took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

A steady beeping filled his head, and as soon as he recognized it, it sped up considerably. The cold, unfriendly sound of the mechanical beeps became the best sound he'd ever heard, until Peter said, "Neal?"

And then Neal was laughing, his face split into a wide smile that showed each of his pearly white teeth, but it wasn't a con this time, it wasn't hiding the truth, it _was_ the truth.

Neal turned to Mozzie and said, "Hey."

He had always been admired for his silver tongue, but at that moment the dry rasp that left his throat was the best thing he'd ever heard himself say.


	15. Chapter 15

12 DAYS AFTER THE BLAST

Neal had only been home for a few hours, only been out of Peter's sight since Peter dropped him off at June's, but Peter was feeling too restless at home. Finally his wife shot him a look, and he kissed her, grabbed the keys, and nearly ran out the door.

The light above the door still came on when Peter knocked, but Neal didn't see it. He no longer needed to. He laughed softly when he heard the knock and called out, "It's open, Peter."

Peter stepped into the room, and it took him a moment to find Neal. The first thing he heard was a flowing, beautiful sound coming from an old fashioned record player on the table. It must've been some sort of famous orchestra, the exact thing that Neal would listen to in his free time. But Peter couldn't begrudge him that anymore.

Neal was out on the balcony, sipping a glass of wine and gazing at the skyline. Peter walked out to join him, until something in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

It was a painting, a beautiful painting even in Peter's opinion and he didn't know much about paintings. It was the skyline, the buildings painted in jet black just as silhouettes with no windows or anything to cut through their darkness. But the background was the amazing part. Peter's eyes traced the roar of colors that lined the backdrop of the painting, taking in the gorgeous chaos they provided. But as his eyes travelled to the other end of the painting, somehow the colors faded away and there was just a silver-grey background behind the buildings. It was slightly depressing, Peter felt, but also magical. He wasn't sure how, but it made the buildings stand out even more.

"What do you think?"

Peter jumped, startled. Neal was standing right behind him. "Neal! I didn't hear you."

Neal only smiled, and Peter mentally kicked himself. But Neal kept looking at Peter expectantly, and Peter knew he was waiting for an answer.

"It's—it's really good," he said, and he thought it sounded quite lame even to his own ears. "Did you paint it while you, uh…"

"Yeah," Neal said, and his voice was soft and warm.

"Listen, Neal, I'm sorry for dropping in on you like this, I just thought…"

Neal laughed quietly, and the smile reached his eyes. "I know why you're here. To be honest, I was expecting it. You don't need to, but I know you feel responsible anyway. While you're here, though, I wanted to say thank you. I know now that I was wrong to keep this from you. I hope you understand that it's not because I didn't trust you."

"I understand why you did, Neal." Peter watched Neal's eyes hang on his lips as he spoke, even though he no longer had to read the words. "It's ok. I'm just glad you're better now."

"But I know, even if I wasn't, you would help me through it."

The conversation about feelings thankfully over, Peter and Neal both sat down at the table, Neal sipping his wine while Peter gripped a newly opened bottle of beer. They just stared at each other for a moment, and Neal closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him.

It was peaceful, and it was marvelous.

Just then the door burst open and Mozzie came in, spurting a new theory from his lips before he realized who else was in the room. Then he quieted with a rather sheepish smile and sat at the table with the other two men.

Neal smiled. There was no place he'd rather be.

* * *

The end!

_Author's notes in the next chapter._


	16. Author's Notes

Thank you all for sticking with me through this whole story. For those of you who have read my past stories, I know I've said this before, but I really do mean it: You guys make me so happy everyday, when I see you've read my story and especially when I get comments. I would write no matter if people read my stories or not, but the fact that you have still amazes me and humbles me, and pushes me to write more. So here's a very sincere thank you to all of you.

Here are some notes that were not crucial to the story, but I knew as I was writing and I wanted to share with you:

-When Elizabeth leaves Neal's hospital room to make a phone call, she contacts Mozzie. That's how he knew where Neal was.

-Although Mozzie promised to help Neal through his deafness, he did urge Neal to at least tell his doctors in case there was something that could be done about it.

-Neal hid his deafness from Peter and Elizabeth at the hospital, at first, simply because he was never totally conscious enough to give enough clues for them to figure it out- this was from a combination of the pain and the drugs. After his talk with Mozzie, he feigned sleep often to avoid the Burkes finding out. Eventually they had to go to work, and when they left his side he was able to tell the doctors and get the tests run to figure out what was wrong. Doctor-patient confidentiality kept Peter from finding out from the doctors.

-The smuggler remains unnamed because I never felt that the story was about him. The bomb was a way to make Neal deaf, and have to deal with the consequences. However, I do know that his daughter was unharmed, and although he recieved several years in prison, his wife was let off with fines and community service. She quickly divorced her husband and committed to going straight in order to best take care of her daughter.

-The reason that the smuggler's daughter was unhurt while Neal received such a terrible injury just had to do with the space between them when the bomb went off. I imagined Neal helping the girl out of the basement, his footing slipping in an attempt to get her out as quick as possible. She got a head start while he tried to regain his footing before he could run off behind her.

-When all is said and done, and Neal can hear, the only people who ever knew that he couldn't were Peter, Diana, Elizabeth, Mozzie, and June.

-Neal got in a habit of watching people's lips as they spoke. It went away for the most part, after a while, but occasionally, especially when something reminded him of the bomb that took his hearing, he watched someone's lips in addition to listening. This is what happened when he visited the smuggler in prison.

-The visit to the incarcerated smuggler was at the smuggler's request- he had heard from his lawyer that Neal had been hospitalized due to the bomb, and felt bad. He wanted to thank Neal for saving his daughter's life. He never knew how close Neal was to never truly recovering from the bomb.

-Finally: Yes, this incident did make Neal an even better conman. If that was possible.


End file.
